I'm wrapping up my stay here in Sénégal, so I think this may be one of my last entries. When I come home I'll tie up all the loose ends (I still have to write about the two-day religious festival I attended--- the videos I have from there are great, and I can't wait to upload them). That said, keep checking just in case!
I was finally pick-pocketed.
I've never been so furious! I've always prided myself on not being that naive traveler but apparently I'm....human :)
The worst part about being pickpocketed is the 20/20 hindsight: tracing back your steps and realizing when and how it happened, and then inevitably kicking yourself for hours for being so stupid. I'll cut myself some slack, since it happened in the busiest market of Dakar. But still, did I really think that guy in the crowd liked my flip flops because he kept complimenting me and pointing to them, while his partner in crime took to my pockets at my most distracted moment??!
The upside is that I only had 2,000 CFA (approximately 3.5 euros) in my pocket, so it wasn't too bad. But still, with 2,000 CFA I could have bought you all so many souvenirs!! That is my excuse for not bringing back gifts. Thanks for understanding :)
I did however get something for myself (I deserve it every once in a while, right?) Couture is really big here, and shops or "ateliers" that make garments for you "sur mesure" (fitted) are at every street corner. All you have to do is go to one of the many fabric shops, buy the necessary amount in the pattern/design you want and then bring it to the couturier to have him make an outfit for you.
For about 13 euros I was able to make myself two custom-made tops and a shirt-dress. Pretty sweet. Except that by "sur mesure" they mean give or take a few inches! I can probably fit two of myself in the dress and one of the tops definately overestimates my bust size! So much for precision. But don't worry, I'll still do an African runway show for you all back in New York.
In other news, one of the volunteers had been complaining about her room smelling badly. Frankly, I thought she was just being high-maintenance, but after three days, and after washing her sheets and pillow case she decided to really investigate.
Low and behold, what did she find, but a dead mouse lodged between the mattress and the bedboard (exactly where she rested her head at night!) and a good dozen cockroaches, some dead, some alive. It was a lively (and lovely) scene to say the least.
I've seen plenty of cockroaches scurrying around and the other day a mouse popped out of my suitcase (not after leaving a few brown pellets, haha) but a dead one festering for days in your bed is something else!
dimanche 19 août 2007
mardi 14 août 2007
Transportation....to St. Louis
This weekend, I ventured up north to St. Louis du Sénégal, the town where European colonists first landed and then made it Sénégal's first capitol.
Getting there was an adventure in and of itself. My host father dropped me off Friday morning at Dakar's "gare routière"--literally a parking lot with destination signs and cars and trucks lined up to take people there. The second I got out of the car I was overwhelmed by people tugging me this way and that asking me where I was going, the prices they were offering, telling me to buy their bananas for the road, etc.
To get to St Louis there were two options: taxi brousse (a Peugot 505 station wagon without the wagon and with a third row of seats, which they also call "un sept places") or an overstuffed truck...cheaper but definately riskier.
I opted for taxi brousse (above) and it works like this: you pay for your seat
and whatever baggage you have and the Peugot doesn't take off until all 7 seats are filled. So there I was cramming into an old and rusty station wagon, embarking on an roadtrip with complete strangers! Of course before hitting the road I had to argue my way past pushy men who were trying to rip me off and make me pay twice the price for a backseat (the ones in front are hard to get, you have to bargain well or know
people!) Anyhow I ended up paying like all the other passengers and getting the middle seat in the second row. Good work Maya. Long story short, for the next four hours I was squeezed between a Wolof speaking business man dressed in traditional attire who was chatting on his cell and a really tired guy who fell asleep on me numerous times. I won't even begin to describe the conversations that were loudly occuring behind me...hilarious.
I got to the gare routière of St Louis mid-afternoon. Its located on Sor which is on the mainland and you have to take a bridge to St Louis, which is an island. I really wanted to see the bridge (Pont Faidherbe by Gustav Eiffel) and was convinced it was only 500m from the gare. Unfortunately, I had misread my Lonely Planet guide and it was actually 2.5 km away! Long story short, I tried to find it, got completely lost in this random village for a good hour, found my way back to the main road and walked in the direction I thought was the Pont. A car rapide came along and asked me where I was going. I told the guy and it was good, so I jumped in along with the Mamadou's and their mangoes and the live chickens they were transporting on the roof and rode for about half an hour.
I told the driver's assistant (he stands outside on the back like a garbage man and lets people in the car rapide) to drop me off after the bridge and he banged on the roof and the driver stopped to let me out. All that for 100 cfa (a dime). The taxi would have been ten bucks...just like in Manhattan.
Anyhow, I arrived unscathed and had a wonderful weekend in St. Louis. I met up with Nicole, who is there for 2 weeks to take French classes and volunteer as well. We ate on the terrace of a quaint restaurant (this was my first individual plate of food in over 3 weeks!) and as per usual, time flew by as we exchanged our stories and impressions of our time in Sénégal. I also organized a trip to a village en brousse (bush/backcountry) which required 8km of travel by donkey-driven chariot (my chauffeur below) under the sun. It was so worth it to spend the afternoon hanging out with the village people using the little Wolof I know and learn about their daily activities and customs.
I left for Dakar on Sunday, as I didn't want to miss out on the religious holiday and festivities on Monday and Tuesday...I will write about this in another entry!
Getting there was an adventure in and of itself. My host father dropped me off Friday morning at Dakar's "gare routière"--literally a parking lot with destination signs and cars and trucks lined up to take people there. The second I got out of the car I was overwhelmed by people tugging me this way and that asking me where I was going, the prices they were offering, telling me to buy their bananas for the road, etc.
To get to St Louis there were two options: taxi brousse (a Peugot 505 station wagon without the wagon and with a third row of seats, which they also call "un sept places") or an overstuffed truck...cheaper but definately riskier.
I opted for taxi brousse (above) and it works like this: you pay for your seat
and whatever baggage you have and the Peugot doesn't take off until all 7 seats are filled. So there I was cramming into an old and rusty station wagon, embarking on an roadtrip with complete strangers! Of course before hitting the road I had to argue my way past pushy men who were trying to rip me off and make me pay twice the price for a backseat (the ones in front are hard to get, you have to bargain well or know
people!) Anyhow I ended up paying like all the other passengers and getting the middle seat in the second row. Good work Maya. Long story short, for the next four hours I was squeezed between a Wolof speaking business man dressed in traditional attire who was chatting on his cell and a really tired guy who fell asleep on me numerous times. I won't even begin to describe the conversations that were loudly occuring behind me...hilarious.
I got to the gare routière of St Louis mid-afternoon. Its located on Sor which is on the mainland and you have to take a bridge to St Louis, which is an island. I really wanted to see the bridge (Pont Faidherbe by Gustav Eiffel) and was convinced it was only 500m from the gare. Unfortunately, I had misread my Lonely Planet guide and it was actually 2.5 km away! Long story short, I tried to find it, got completely lost in this random village for a good hour, found my way back to the main road and walked in the direction I thought was the Pont. A car rapide came along and asked me where I was going. I told the guy and it was good, so I jumped in along with the Mamadou's and their mangoes and the live chickens they were transporting on the roof and rode for about half an hour.
I told the driver's assistant (he stands outside on the back like a garbage man and lets people in the car rapide) to drop me off after the bridge and he banged on the roof and the driver stopped to let me out. All that for 100 cfa (a dime). The taxi would have been ten bucks...just like in Manhattan.
Anyhow, I arrived unscathed and had a wonderful weekend in St. Louis. I met up with Nicole, who is there for 2 weeks to take French classes and volunteer as well. We ate on the terrace of a quaint restaurant (this was my first individual plate of food in over 3 weeks!) and as per usual, time flew by as we exchanged our stories and impressions of our time in Sénégal. I also organized a trip to a village en brousse (bush/backcountry) which required 8km of travel by donkey-driven chariot (my chauffeur below) under the sun. It was so worth it to spend the afternoon hanging out with the village people using the little Wolof I know and learn about their daily activities and customs.
I left for Dakar on Sunday, as I didn't want to miss out on the religious holiday and festivities on Monday and Tuesday...I will write about this in another entry!
mardi 7 août 2007
sickness
Last week, all the volunteers got sick. We had fevers, chills, headaches...and yes, the typical stomach problems. On any given day, only two to three of the 5 volunteers made it to the school. (I'm proud to say that for once I was the first to recover!)
Anyhow, being bed-ridden and a hypochondriac, I took out my guidebook and started researching the diseases I could have possibly contracted. Cholera, Yellow Fever, Typhoid, Hepatitis, HIV (jk!)...
...and Malaria. Malaria is a huge problem here, as the heat and humidity is the perfect breeding ground for mosquitos. Furthermore, the mosquitos have become more and more resistant to the prescribed medications, and the strains are mutating at a significant pace.
That said, I haven't seen too many mosquitos. I was bitten on one occasion and that was while assiting a mass at the Keur Moussa monastery (north of Dakar). I was thoroughly devoured though and had to get up and leave... but I just thought it was because I was Jewish...you know, a subtle hint that I shouldn't be there... :)
Anyhow, the rest of the volunteers got better, except for one: Pierre, from Germany. As of today, it had been a week, and he had only gotten worse. So, after lunch, my host father and two other volunteers accompanied Pierre to the hospital in center-city Dakar. After seeing the doctor and getting his blood drawn (I was really impressed by the effectiveness of this hospital visit by the way) Pierre came out of the screening room. Diagnosis: Malaria.
He had been prescribed a medication called savarine by his doctor in Germany, but according to the doctor here, it doesn't protect you in the slightest. So even with his mere three mosquito bites, Pierre had gotten malaria. It is both surreal and scary.
I tend to fictionalize health risks, thinking the odds are so slim. But today I realized I couldn't.
Anyhow, being bed-ridden and a hypochondriac, I took out my guidebook and started researching the diseases I could have possibly contracted. Cholera, Yellow Fever, Typhoid, Hepatitis, HIV (jk!)...
...and Malaria. Malaria is a huge problem here, as the heat and humidity is the perfect breeding ground for mosquitos. Furthermore, the mosquitos have become more and more resistant to the prescribed medications, and the strains are mutating at a significant pace.
That said, I haven't seen too many mosquitos. I was bitten on one occasion and that was while assiting a mass at the Keur Moussa monastery (north of Dakar). I was thoroughly devoured though and had to get up and leave... but I just thought it was because I was Jewish...you know, a subtle hint that I shouldn't be there... :)
Anyhow, the rest of the volunteers got better, except for one: Pierre, from Germany. As of today, it had been a week, and he had only gotten worse. So, after lunch, my host father and two other volunteers accompanied Pierre to the hospital in center-city Dakar. After seeing the doctor and getting his blood drawn (I was really impressed by the effectiveness of this hospital visit by the way) Pierre came out of the screening room. Diagnosis: Malaria.
He had been prescribed a medication called savarine by his doctor in Germany, but according to the doctor here, it doesn't protect you in the slightest. So even with his mere three mosquito bites, Pierre had gotten malaria. It is both surreal and scary.
I tend to fictionalize health risks, thinking the odds are so slim. But today I realized I couldn't.
jeudi 2 août 2007
the school and los mujeriegos
I am volunteering at a local school in the Camberene village, just outside of Dakar. During the summer, they have a sort of summer camp and the volunteers are the camp counselors. We aren't asked to take attendance and the number of kids varies every day, from 5 to 40. For the past few days, due to the rain, we've had only 5 kids.
They are redoing the roof of the school, and therefore neither of the two classrooms are usable. Furthermore, we were supposed to teach the kids how to use computers, but in the nearby shack where they have "une salle d'informatique", the two computers don't work. The director of the school told me he needed "un technicien" to come in and take a look, which means I will probably have left Sénégal by the time they are fixed.
That is OK. I definately empathize with technical difficulties! What shocks me more however, is the general lack of resources and concern from the school officials. When we got there the first day, we walked into the main office to find two men seated behind desks with headphones on. We stood there for a little bit, and nothing. I practically had to get in their faces for them to look up perplexed, and slowly remove their headphones.
The conversation that followed went (shortened)something like this:
"Oui, bonjour?"
"Salaam alekoum. Que voulez vous?"
"Nous sommes les volontaires"
"Ah oui. Les enfants sont dehors"
He put his headphones back on and continued to do some kind of accounting work by hand: long division, multiplication and all...
So we went outside, gathered whatever kids were out there and did a few introductory rounds.
We were now ready to start playing and doing all sorts of activities!
Well, long story short, there was nothing for us to do. No paper to draw, no ball to throw around, no books to read (there were two textbooks, but we didn't think ten year olds wanted to learn Biology and Chemistry during their summer break). No games, nothing. We asked the school officials but they said they were busy and couldn't help us right now, but they directed us to a store down the street that sold soccer balls.
Thank goodness we were creative: leap frog, duck duck goose, miss mary mack...
And then it started to rain.
All of us crammed back into the main office (probably about the size of my dorm room) and waited for it to pass...
That was the first day. We've gradually found fun things to do with the little we have. One day I taught them yoga. Other times we just sit around and chat. The guys love to act and play "gentlemen". They get their inspiration from watching "les désirs de Lorenzo" and other soap operas, which play non-stop on TV here. My host father is a big fan.
The boys show us how to treat a lady, and what to do to gain a woman's respect. I was even asked out on a date by a young boy named Cheikh. The date was to occur at his house where his mom (Mamadou) was going to make me poulet yassa (a traditional Senegalese dish). We have yet to set a specific day/time though :-)
About Senegalese food: lots of fish and meat, rice, millet, manioc (from the potato family) and tons of spices. They put hot peppers in everything. Meals are eaten from a communal dish. We all sit around it and eat whatever is on our side (I tried to get a carrot from my neighbors territory and I soon found out how impolite that was). You have to wait for the father of the house to throw a bit of whatever is in the plate into your area, and then you can eat it. We eat with spoons though traditionally you eat with your hands.
For breakfast its bread and butter and some coffee with powdered milk (because the electricity goes off so often...)
Its manageable but definately hard to get used to.
They are redoing the roof of the school, and therefore neither of the two classrooms are usable. Furthermore, we were supposed to teach the kids how to use computers, but in the nearby shack where they have "une salle d'informatique", the two computers don't work. The director of the school told me he needed "un technicien" to come in and take a look, which means I will probably have left Sénégal by the time they are fixed.
That is OK. I definately empathize with technical difficulties! What shocks me more however, is the general lack of resources and concern from the school officials. When we got there the first day, we walked into the main office to find two men seated behind desks with headphones on. We stood there for a little bit, and nothing. I practically had to get in their faces for them to look up perplexed, and slowly remove their headphones.
The conversation that followed went (shortened)something like this:
"Oui, bonjour?"
"Salaam alekoum. Que voulez vous?"
"Nous sommes les volontaires"
"Ah oui. Les enfants sont dehors"
He put his headphones back on and continued to do some kind of accounting work by hand: long division, multiplication and all...
So we went outside, gathered whatever kids were out there and did a few introductory rounds.
We were now ready to start playing and doing all sorts of activities!
Well, long story short, there was nothing for us to do. No paper to draw, no ball to throw around, no books to read (there were two textbooks, but we didn't think ten year olds wanted to learn Biology and Chemistry during their summer break). No games, nothing. We asked the school officials but they said they were busy and couldn't help us right now, but they directed us to a store down the street that sold soccer balls.
Thank goodness we were creative: leap frog, duck duck goose, miss mary mack...
And then it started to rain.
All of us crammed back into the main office (probably about the size of my dorm room) and waited for it to pass...
That was the first day. We've gradually found fun things to do with the little we have. One day I taught them yoga. Other times we just sit around and chat. The guys love to act and play "gentlemen". They get their inspiration from watching "les désirs de Lorenzo" and other soap operas, which play non-stop on TV here. My host father is a big fan.
The boys show us how to treat a lady, and what to do to gain a woman's respect. I was even asked out on a date by a young boy named Cheikh. The date was to occur at his house where his mom (Mamadou) was going to make me poulet yassa (a traditional Senegalese dish). We have yet to set a specific day/time though :-)
About Senegalese food: lots of fish and meat, rice, millet, manioc (from the potato family) and tons of spices. They put hot peppers in everything. Meals are eaten from a communal dish. We all sit around it and eat whatever is on our side (I tried to get a carrot from my neighbors territory and I soon found out how impolite that was). You have to wait for the father of the house to throw a bit of whatever is in the plate into your area, and then you can eat it. We eat with spoons though traditionally you eat with your hands.
For breakfast its bread and butter and some coffee with powdered milk (because the electricity goes off so often...)
Its manageable but definately hard to get used to.
lundi 30 juillet 2007
School visit and Taxi adventures
This morning the volunteers and I visited the school where, starting tomorrow, we will be teaching French and English, as well as playing games. Its very small, and they are re-doing the roof, but the kids are adorable and really enjoyed meeting us. They are so full of energy and jump all over you, tugging you this way and that: the girls want to start braiding your hair, and the boys want to play soccer. All of them speak Wolof, the primary tribal language of Senegal, though the older ones (5+ years) speak French too. So I chat with them in both, or at least I try. I've picked up a lot of words and phrases in Wolof, which is a really fun language to speak, though the Senegalese my age have really enjoyed mocking my Wolof skills... but I just spit some Akon and its even:-)
Anyhow, expect some stories about the school kids very soon. Our first full day with them is tomorrow!
After the school visit, me and two other volunteers hopped in a cab to get to the city-center of Dakar. I'm living in a suburb called Cambérène, which is about 45 minutes from "downtown", and is definately a village. In fact, only the "Plateau" neighborhood of Dakar (government buildings, banks, etc) bears some resemblance to a city.
Its really not far from Cambérène but the traffic is bad.
And so are the roads...they are currently building the first real highway here, and you can imagine what the work in progress looks like in this sand and dust covered place.
And so are the drivers...
Long story short, we got into accidents on our way to and from the center. On our way there, the taxi driver hit a young girl who was crossing the street. As the roads are dirt/sand, there are no separator lines, and she was in the middle of the street, getting ready to cross the second half. It would have been fine, but just as the cab driver was about to pass her, she takes a step back...
Thank goodness we were going relatively slowly and the cabs breaks worked. She was hit and fell to the ground, but got up covering her face and walked off. Of course, the driver stopped and got out and everyone gathered around. We did the same, and when we saw that despite the shock she was ok (a few cuts and bruises) we continued our journey by foot until we found another cab driver to accept our price for a ride into town.
On the way home, we were just leaving the center, and there were exits everywhere indicating the way to the airport, to the North, to the East, and somewhere in all this chaos a taxi brousse (the cheapest rides and known for their wrecklessness, they are brightly colored mini buses almost always full to the brim with passengers standing on the rear bumper of the bus) rams our taxi from the side (perpendicular) in an attempt to traverse the street at an traffic-light-less intersection. The driver got out, cursed a few times, yelled something in Wolof to those in the taxi brousse and got back in.
"C'est bon, on y va"
I asked if he was sure, and he smiled and said there was a big dent, but not to worry. He couldn't do much and it could have been worse.
I couldn't help but spend the rest of the ride imagining what would have happened in the exact same situation in the States. An appearence in court would certainly have been necessary.
Half an hour later we got to Cambérène. Indeed, there was an enormous dent.
But then again, he was right...it could have been much worse.
Inshallah
Anyhow, expect some stories about the school kids very soon. Our first full day with them is tomorrow!
After the school visit, me and two other volunteers hopped in a cab to get to the city-center of Dakar. I'm living in a suburb called Cambérène, which is about 45 minutes from "downtown", and is definately a village. In fact, only the "Plateau" neighborhood of Dakar (government buildings, banks, etc) bears some resemblance to a city.
Its really not far from Cambérène but the traffic is bad.
And so are the roads...they are currently building the first real highway here, and you can imagine what the work in progress looks like in this sand and dust covered place.
And so are the drivers...
Long story short, we got into accidents on our way to and from the center. On our way there, the taxi driver hit a young girl who was crossing the street. As the roads are dirt/sand, there are no separator lines, and she was in the middle of the street, getting ready to cross the second half. It would have been fine, but just as the cab driver was about to pass her, she takes a step back...
Thank goodness we were going relatively slowly and the cabs breaks worked. She was hit and fell to the ground, but got up covering her face and walked off. Of course, the driver stopped and got out and everyone gathered around. We did the same, and when we saw that despite the shock she was ok (a few cuts and bruises) we continued our journey by foot until we found another cab driver to accept our price for a ride into town.
On the way home, we were just leaving the center, and there were exits everywhere indicating the way to the airport, to the North, to the East, and somewhere in all this chaos a taxi brousse (the cheapest rides and known for their wrecklessness, they are brightly colored mini buses almost always full to the brim with passengers standing on the rear bumper of the bus) rams our taxi from the side (perpendicular) in an attempt to traverse the street at an traffic-light-less intersection. The driver got out, cursed a few times, yelled something in Wolof to those in the taxi brousse and got back in.
"C'est bon, on y va"
I asked if he was sure, and he smiled and said there was a big dent, but not to worry. He couldn't do much and it could have been worse.
I couldn't help but spend the rest of the ride imagining what would have happened in the exact same situation in the States. An appearence in court would certainly have been necessary.
Half an hour later we got to Cambérène. Indeed, there was an enormous dent.
But then again, he was right...it could have been much worse.
Inshallah
Electricity
In the last 48 hours, we have spent more time without electricity than with it. When this happens it effects the entire neighborhood. Rather than stay inside, people go out into the streets or onto the beach.
So last night, after a candle-lit dinner (yes, very romantic)with the other volunteers, I made my way down to the crowded shores squinting to find the way since the street lights didn't work either. It was slightly surreal, and each step I took made me feel like the protagonist of a cinema verité style film. Music was coming from all angles, people were talking, laughing, praying, and singing religious chants in the obscurity. By the time we got to the beach, our eyes had adjusted to the moonlight (which happened to be a full moon) and it was so strong, you would have thought the sun was about to rise on the ocean.
Anyway, it was fun for an evening, but not so much when I woke up this morning still without electricity and additionally, without running water.
So last night, after a candle-lit dinner (yes, very romantic)with the other volunteers, I made my way down to the crowded shores squinting to find the way since the street lights didn't work either. It was slightly surreal, and each step I took made me feel like the protagonist of a cinema verité style film. Music was coming from all angles, people were talking, laughing, praying, and singing religious chants in the obscurity. By the time we got to the beach, our eyes had adjusted to the moonlight (which happened to be a full moon) and it was so strong, you would have thought the sun was about to rise on the ocean.
Anyway, it was fun for an evening, but not so much when I woke up this morning still without electricity and additionally, without running water.
vendredi 27 juillet 2007
Ile de Gorée
Today we went to an island twenty minutes by ferry from Dakar. It was a hub and stronghold for the slave trade in West Africa.
The ferry was packed with people heading out for a day at the beach, and tourists (Toubabs and Senegalese alike) going to visit and remember the past. I lost the two other volunteers in the rush to get a seat, so I ended up standing at the back alone. Next to me was an elderly man, from Dakar, who was accompanying a young family member visiting from elsewhere. The man was briefly explaining the history of the island and the nature of the slave trade. I plunged into my book. He started speaking louder as the conversation got heated but I continued to read...
I looked up right as he was concluding: "mais bon, c'est pas pour cela qu'il faut tuer les blanc. Non, c'est pas bien de les tuer."
What?! I had clearly missed an interesting conversation.
He then leans over and says to me chuckling: "T'es pas ancienne colonisatrice toi, hein?"
Non.
Awkward.
On the island we visited La maison des esclaves, built in 1776. Slaves were kept there temporarily until they were auctioned (which occured only when they had been engraissés to the minimum weight of 60kg). At that point they walked through "la porte du voyage sans retour" and embarked, usually for the Americas.
(ran out of time. to be continued...)
The ferry was packed with people heading out for a day at the beach, and tourists (Toubabs and Senegalese alike) going to visit and remember the past. I lost the two other volunteers in the rush to get a seat, so I ended up standing at the back alone. Next to me was an elderly man, from Dakar, who was accompanying a young family member visiting from elsewhere. The man was briefly explaining the history of the island and the nature of the slave trade. I plunged into my book. He started speaking louder as the conversation got heated but I continued to read...
I looked up right as he was concluding: "mais bon, c'est pas pour cela qu'il faut tuer les blanc. Non, c'est pas bien de les tuer."
What?! I had clearly missed an interesting conversation.
He then leans over and says to me chuckling: "T'es pas ancienne colonisatrice toi, hein?"
Non.
Awkward.
On the island we visited La maison des esclaves, built in 1776. Slaves were kept there temporarily until they were auctioned (which occured only when they had been engraissés to the minimum weight of 60kg). At that point they walked through "la porte du voyage sans retour" and embarked, usually for the Americas.
(ran out of time. to be continued...)
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